Ink
by dragonwire
Summary: Kenny has a tattoo, and Kyle doesn't know what to make of it. KennyKyle.
1. Chapter 1

Kenny had a tattoo. Holy fuck, Kenny fucking McCormick had a fucking tattoo.

And Kyle wouldn't even have noticed if Kenny hadn't spilled gravy on that stupid orange coat during dinner at Stan's place, and Mrs. Marsh hadn't insisted on putting it in the wash.

Nobody else seemed to have seen it; it was never brought up in conversation, and maybe it was only Kyle who happened to be watching when Kenny tugged his coat off and the shirt underneath rode up for a moment, revealing black ink just visible over Kenny's left hip. It didn't even look new.

Kyle wondered what it meant. What everything meant. That Kenny hadn't told them, for one thing. They were supposed to be friends--best friends. Okay, maybe Stan was supposed to be Kyle's super best friend forever, but...

Who was Kenny's best friend?

Sure wasn't Cartman, though Kenny had wound up trailing along behind the fat fuck simply because Kyle and Stan had been--well, they'd assumed. Since they were super best friends forever and all, they naturally would team up, and there was just no room for Kenny. But Cartman was nobody's best friend. Hell, Kyle wasn't sure he was anybody's friend at all. Stupid pissant asshole.

So who was Kenny's best friend, then? Kyle had no fucking idea.

And why was it so surprising that Kenny had a tattoo? So many South Park kids had gotten them lately that the tattoo and piercing parlor downtown had expanded twice. But somehow the fact that Kenny, (one of) Kyle's best friend(s) Kenny had ink was earth-shattering.

Not to mention the design itself. A dollar sign with, like, curly shit all around it. Who the hell knew what that meant. Maybe it was a goal of Kenny's or something, to get really rich someday.

Kyle mulled it over for two weeks.

He kept trying to sneak glances at it, but Kenny showed almost no skin at any time. Even now, at seventeen, he'd retreat into the depths of his coat whenever he was nervous or pensive. Kyle, searching through his memories, realized that his mental image of Kenny was little more than an orange coat with some stray blond hairs poking out. He spent so much time staring at that stupid coat and willing it to lift, just a little bit, that his notes were the worst they'd been in ten years.

Stan, naturally, was too busy tagging after his girlfriend to notice Kyle's preoccupation, and Cartman never noticed anything anyway. So Kyle figured he had gone undetected until Kenny dragged him behind a tree at lunch and demanded to know what the fuck was going on.

"Um." Kyle blinked, a bit owlishly. "What do you mean? N-nothing's going on."

"Jesus, you're a crap liar."

There was no escape. Kenny had both hands fisted tightly in Kyle's coat, his face inches away, right _there_, blue eyes sparking with annoyance. Yeah, Kenny was skinny, but he still had the advantage over an undersized diabetic Jew who spent too much time in the library. There was nothing for it.

"I--you have a tattoo."

Kenny's grip eased, mild confusion replacing the annoyance. "Yes...and?"

That was just too fucking much.

"And why didn't you tell me? All of us? Why'd you get it? When? And, and what does it mean?"

Dimly, Kyle realized he was ranting, but he simply didn't care. "We're supposed to be friends--best friends, and you know what that means? That means when you make a fucking life-altering decision, you tell us! You don't get a tattoo, a permanent tattoo that will be on you forever until you rot away in the ground, without telling us. Asking us what we think. I dunno, just--just telling us. Me. Telling me."

"Kyle."

"And another thing, when exactly did you get it? I mean, I only noticed two weeks ago--"

"Kyle."

"--didn't exactly look new, you must have had it for fucking _ages_--"

"Kyle."

"_What_?"

"Dude, why do you care so much?"

"I--"

Of course I care, he wanted to say. You stupid bastard, of course I care. I just don't know why.

Just then, the bell rang, and Kenny let go of Kyle's coat altogether. "Look, Kyle, I'll tell you about it later if you want. Meet me at Stark's Pond after school?"

"Yeah," said Kyle. "Okay."

It was cold, because it was always cold. Kyle was early or Kenny was late, he wasn't sure, all he knew was that it was cold and he was lying in the snow waiting for stupid Kenny and his stupid tattoo. In the past fortnight, he'd gone over everything he knew about Kenny again and again, and he started over out of sheer habit.

Kenny knew stuff. Had always known stuff. Yeah, Kyle was probably the smartest of the four--hell, the smartest in the school, if you didn't count Wendy. But Kenny had always been a little more--knowledgeable than the rest of them when it came to things that actually mattered.

Kenny had never had a girlfriend. Kyle realized suddenly that he didn't know if Kenny was a virgin or not. He'd never had that stupid expression Stan got after spending a night with Wendy, but Kyle didn't know what people other than Stan looked like after sex. That in and of itself was a tragedy that he had sought to remedy a few times, but...things just never worked out. Girls were weird and Kyle just never, well, connected with any of the South Park girls.

Oh well. He had time, right? He was only seventeen. There were plenty of seventeen-year-old virgins. It didn't matter whether or not Kenny was one, too, did it?

"Hey." Kenny was suddenly there in an orange sprawl.

"Hey," said Kyle, blushed, and hated himself.

"So, um, tattoo. What do you want to know?"

"Well..." Kyle propped himself up on his elbows and stared out over the surface of the pond. "When did you get it?"

"A few months ago, for my birthday."

"It was a present? From whom?"

"Me to me."

"Fuck, this feels like an interrogation," Kyle sighed. "Can't you just...tell me about it? What does it mean?"

Kenny tugged his coat up, exposing the patch of skin. To Kyle, it looked even more stark against Kenny's pale skin than it had before.

"It's a reminder, I guess. That everything has a price. You remember how Cartman used to wave money at me whenever he wanted me to do something? I realized a long time ago that I'm for sale, too. Kyle...I know I'm white trash. I'm not like the rest of you; I'm not going to any college and I don't have a future. This is it for me. I'll do whatever it takes to get enough money to stay alive. So yeah, I'm reminding myself that I'm for sale. I didn't tell you guys because Cartman would make fun of me and I thought you and Stan wouldn't care."

Kyle stared in shock. "That's terrible."

"It's true."

"But--you have a future, of course you have a future. And why wouldn't we care? I care. You're my friend, dammit."

Kenny laughed, hard and bitter. "Fucking hell, Kyle, wake up and smell the shit. I don't have jack. No money, no prospects, no future."

"You've got me," Kyle said, and immediately felt really stupid.

Kenny shot him a weird sideways glance, but Kyle thought he saw a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "That's pretty gay."

"Shut up, Kenny." Kyle felt happier than he had in a long while, just sitting there, close to Kenny in companionable silence. There was homework waiting for him, essays and worksheets and fuck-all, but who actually gave a shit? This was good.

He rolled over to stare at the tattoo some more, and couldn't resist reaching out to run his fingers over it. Kenny's skin was surprisingly warm, and Kyle could feel him sucking in a sharp breath of surprise at the touch. He glanced up to see that Kenny's hood had fallen off, and something undefined shot through him, hot and sudden. Blushing, he scrambled to his feet, muttering excuses, and fled.

* * *

A/N: To be continued shortly. Probably one more chapter? Not sure.

I really, really love Kenny.

Edit: um, accidentally listed Mr. Mackey as a char, because his name is right under Kyle's. Fixed.

Edit 11/29/09: so, as is fairly usual for me, I now cannot read this without going "Oh, no. I did not write that, that is terrible. What was I thinking? How could I have let something like that escape from the confines in my head? _Who told me it was a good idea to put this on the internet?_" Anyway, I've been editing a bit. Not a whole lot, because I'm supposed to be applying to grad school right about now, but still.


	2. Chapter 2

Throughout the walk back, Kyle kept sneaking glances at Kenny, wondering what was going on inside his head. Kenny could be so expressive sometimes, but...Kyle was never quite sure what he was really thinking. Ever since that moment, whatever the hell it was, he'd been sort of uncomfortable around Kenny.

Uncomfortable wasn't exactly the right word, but what else was there to describe the way he felt his face heat up whenever Kenny looked his way, the way he suddenly had trouble talking around Kenny, the way he couldn't seem to stop looking at Kenny, the way--

Oh.

_Oh_.

So, um. Gay.

That was...new. And it was okay, he was totally fine with it, because he was still the same person and oh who the hell was he kidding, this was completely insane, you don't just wake up gay and how exactly had he gone through seventeen years of life without realizing that he was a fucking queer? More than that, he was gay for one of his best friends, and oh fuck, everything started to make sense. The way he'd never shown the same interest in girls as Stan and Cartman and Kenny--shit. So much worse, remembering that Kenny liked chicks, the ones with the breasts. Kenny with his fucking hair and his fucking eyes and his fucking smile.

"Kyle?"

Goddamn Kenny's stupid fucking smile, the one that flashed so rarely across his face, the one that gave Kyle distinctly Funny Feelings. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Kyle was just now figuring this out. It wasn't fair that now Kyle had to figure out how to tell everyone, whether to tell anyone, that he'd never even kissed a boy and that he had to try and fit this new _thing_ into his identity.

"Kyle?"

Okay, fine, it was partially his fault for writing off certain...urges as something that happened to everyone, and if he'd really thought about it for a moment he would probably have put two and two together much sooner. But dammit, it wasn't fair that he had to actually think about it. And it especially wasn't fair that he was going to have to spend the night with the boy he apparently had a thing for and not say anything ever.

"The Holocaust never happened, it was all just a Jewish conspiracy."

"Kenny, what the fuck!"

"Heh. Had to snap you out of it somehow, dude." That smile again.

"Goddammit, Kenny, that was not funny!" Kyle hated the way he was blushing so, so much.

"Hey, I'm not the one who's been staring at his own front door for like five minutes."

Huh. How about that.

"Well...I guess we should go in."

"I guess so." Kenny still sounded amused, damn him.

They circumnavigated Kyle's mom carefully, a skill they'd all perfected over the years. With any luck, she wouldn't even realize they were present until dinnertime. Duck into the kitchen, tiptoe onto the porch, haul themselves up the siding onto the dining room window and swing onto the stairs. And then they were in Kyle's room, just the two of them.

"I'll, uh, just call Stan then, and tell him to get over here sometime." Kyle focused on tapping the familiar numbers, studiously avoiding Kenny's mildly curious gaze. The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity.

"Hello?"

"Hey Stan, what's up? Look, you want to hang out at my place tonight? Kenny's here already."

"Sorry, no can do. I'm--haha, stop it, Wendy!--I'm gonna be busy tonight. Ask Cartman."

"Fuck him."

"Then I guess you two are on your own."

"Yeah, I...guess so. Well, um, see you some other time."

The dial tone sounded before Kyle had even finished his sentence. He turned to Kenny with what had started out as a smile but turned into a grimace. "Asshole's busy again."

"Sucks to be him. Bros before hos, right?"

"...Right."

Kenny flopped down onto Kyle's bed, arms tucked behind his head. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask. Are...are you and Stan okay?"

"Sure we're okay. Why wouldn't we be okay? There's no reason not for us to be okay. We're best friends, of course we're okay."

"No offense, dude. I just meant he's had kind of a one-track mind lately."

Kyle was silent for a moment, trying not to think about it. This was not a good time to talk about anything important, but there was no fucking way he could explain that without going into the whole gay thing. Which he could be excused for still freaking out about, thank you very much, given that this revelation was less than an hour old. Kenny broke into his thoughts, muttering, "Look, I know and you know he cares about you, I didn't mean--I was just trying to help."

Fuck you, Kenny McCormick. Fuck you so very much for making this unrequited shit harder to put up with. Now he had to reassure Kenny that he liked him more than ever without actually, y'know, _saying_ it and sounding like a total fag, while trying to deal with his newfound sexuality and his carefully avoided fears about Stan. Kyle tried to smile, but had the sinking feeling it was coming out wrong. His throat felt choked with meaningless words. Something in his face must have communicated how fucked up he felt, because Kenny's eyes widened and he hauled himself up into a sitting position.

"Hey. Hey, Kyle. It's going to be okay, I mean, Stan will get over it, you know he's your best friend. It's going to be okay."

Kenny reached tentatively for his hand, and Kyle latched onto him like a lifeline. Kenny was saying meaningless comforting things, and all Kyle could focus on was how Kenny's hood had fallen to his shoulders and the way his hair went in every direction. There was just something about the way he was trying so hard, the way he always did. Kyle couldn't resist leaning in to rest his head on Kenny's shoulder.

They sat there for a while. Kyle wasn't sure how long; he measured time in deep, even breaths of Kenny-scent and the slow thump of Kenny's pulse. It was an incredibly awkward position, and Kyle's arm was beginning to ache, and he never wanted to move again.

Eventually, Sheila Broflovski's ringing tones summoned them down to dinner, and Kyle was forced to stir. He was also to contemplate exactly how much of a pussy he was being.

Dinner was a relatively quiet affair. Kyle's mom was going on about animal rights or something, and the rest of the family--and Kenny--seemed perfectly happy to nod and make noises of agreement in the appropriate places while getting on with their dinner. In the meantime, Kyle was left with plenty of time to think about things. He'd always been good at figuring things out. If he was persistent enough, he could always get the right answer, find the logical solution. He would figure this out too so that everything would work out, Stan being his best friend again and Kenny being his best friend too, and...well, he didn't really know yet what he wanted to do about the other thing.

Something else he had to work out was how to fix Kenny's future. Kenny had sounded helpless and lost as he raged against the ragged edges of his life that Kyle's heart had utterly broken for him. Realizing that Kenny's plans, Kenny's world might not echo his own had been an unpleasant shock, and Kyle Broslovski was not one to take something like that lying down. He'd make sure Kenny ended up as a doctor or a lawyer or something if it was the last thing he did.

After dinner, Kenny tugged Kyle over to the living room.

"Come on, Terrance and Phillip reruns are showing."

Ike rolled his eyes with the endless wisdom of every eleven-year-old. "You gaywads still watch that crap?"

"Shut up, dildo, Terrance and Phillip are timeless," Kyle shot over his shoulder.

They settled happily onto the sofa, and Kyle retrieved the remote from under a seat cushion. He was beginning to flip through the channels when Kenny objected.

"Hang on, you don't get control over the remote."

"What? This is my house!"

"And I'm a guest, so I get dibs."

"Bullshit. Besides, possession is nine-tenths of the law."

Kenny's eyes began to gleam in a way that utterly distracted Kyle for a moment. "That's true, isn't it..."

He lunged in a blur of growling orange, and Kyle landed on the floor in a heap, clutching the remote protectively."

"Give it up, Broflovski, you're no match for me."

"Never! This remote is my birthright!"

Kenny managed to pin Kyle down bodily and attempted to pry the remote from his hands, but Kyle held on with a death grip.

"I can stay here all day, y'know."

"Dammit, Kyle, give me the fucking remote!"

Kenny was laughing, and Kyle luxuriated in the sound for a moment before replying, quite deliberately--"No. What are you going to do about it?"

"I'll show you what I'll do." The blond leaned down and before Kyle knew what was happening, licked a hot, wet stripe along his jawline. Kyle's brain seemed to shut down completely, and when he phased back into reality, Kenny was clutching the remote triumphantly. "Too easy."

Kyle's body still sang with the remembrance of Kenny's breath on his neck, Kenny's weight pressing him into the ground, the dancing lights in Kenny's eyes. Fuck, this was bad.

"Goddammit, Kenny," he muttered as he climbed back into the couch, curling up against the arm.

He still remembered when they'd discovered Terrance and Phillip, he and Stan. They'd been so small, and everything so big and bright. And Terrance and Phillip were the brightest of all. Larger than life, so fucking funny that the four of them had laughed until they cried.

"Kyle." Kenny was poking him in the arm. "What's up? You're a million miles away."

He shrugged. "Just, y'know. Thinking about when Stan and I first saw Terrance and Phillip."

"Oh." Kenny looked sympathetic, and Kyle fought the urge to scream in frustration

* * *

A/N: Longer chapter this time around. I think the ending was a little awkward, but I decided to cut the chapter off here because it was looking to be ridiculously long. Balance in everything, and all that.

By the way, thanks for all the lovely reviews! They make my day a million times better.


	3. Chapter 3

Throughout the walk back, Kyle kept sneaking glances at Kenny, wondering what was going on inside his head. Kenny could be so expressive sometimes, but...Kyle was never quite sure what he was really thinking. Ever since that moment, whatever the hell it was, he'd been sort of uncomfortable around Kenny.

Uncomfortable wasn't exactly the right word, but what else was there to describe the way he felt his face heat up whenever Kenny looked his way, the way he suddenly had trouble talking around Kenny, the way he couldn't seem to stop looking at Kenny, the way--

Oh.

_Oh_.

So, um. Gay.

That was...new. And it was okay, he was totally fine with it, because he was still the same person and oh who the hell was he kidding, this was completely insane, you don't just wake up gay and how exactly had he gone through seventeen years of life without realizing that he was a fucking queer? More than that, he was gay for one of his best friends, and oh fuck, everything started to make sense. The way he'd never shown the same interest in girls as Stan and Cartman and Kenny--shit. So much worse, remembering that Kenny liked chicks, the ones with the breasts. Kenny with his fucking hair and his fucking eyes and his fucking smile.

"Kyle?"

Goddamn Kenny's stupid fucking smile, the one that flashed so rarely across his face, the one that gave Kyle distinctly Funny Feelings. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that Kyle was just now figuring this out. It wasn't fair that now Kyle had to figure out how to tell everyone, whether to tell anyone, that he'd never even kissed a boy and that he had to try and fit this new _thing_ into his identity.

"Kyle?"

Okay, fine, it was partially his fault for writing off certain...urges as something that happened to everyone, and if he'd really thought about it for a moment he would probably have put two and two together much sooner. But dammit, it wasn't fair that he had to actually think about it. And it especially wasn't fair that he was going to have to spend the night with the boy he apparently had a thing for and not say anything ever.

"The Holocaust never happened, it was all just a Jewish conspiracy."

"Kenny, what the fuck!"

"Heh. Had to snap you out of it somehow, dude." That smile again.

"Goddammit, Kenny, that was not funny!" Kyle hated the way he was blushing so, so much.

"Hey, I'm not the one who's been staring at his own front door for like five minutes."

Huh. They were in fact at Kyle's door. How about that.

"Well...I guess we should go in."

"I guess so." Kenny still sounded amused, damn him.

They circumnavigated Kyle's mom carefully, a skill they'd all perfected over the years. With any luck, she wouldn't even realize they were present until dinnertime. Duck into the kitchen, tiptoe onto the porch, haul themselves up the siding onto the dining room window and swing onto the stairs. And then they were in Kyle's room, just the two of them.

"I'll, uh, just call Stan then, and tell him to get over here sometime." Kyle focused on tapping the familiar numbers, studiously avoiding Kenny's mildly curious gaze. The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity.

"Hello?"

"Hey Stan, what's up? Look, you want to hang out at my place tonight? Kenny's here already."

"Sorry, no can do. I'm--haha, stop it, Wendy!--I'm gonna be busy tonight. Ask Cartman."

"Fuck him."

"Then I guess you two are on your own."

"Yeah, I...guess so. Well, um, see you some other time."

The dial tone sounded before Kyle had even finished his sentence. He turned to Kenny with what had started out as a smile but turned into a grimace. "Asshole's busy again."

"Sucks to be him. Bros before hos, right?"

"...Right."

Kenny flopped down onto Kyle's bed, arms tucked behind his head. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask. Are...are you and Stan okay?"

"Sure we're okay. Why wouldn't we be okay? There's no reason not for us to be okay. We're best friends, of course we're okay."

"No offense, dude. I just meant he's had kind of a one-track mind lately."

Kyle was silent for a moment, trying not to think about it. This was not a good time to talk about anything important, but there was no fucking way he could explain that without going into the whole gay thing. Which he could be excused for still freaking out about, thank you very much, given that this revelation was less than an hour old. Kenny broke into his thoughts, muttering, "Look, I know and you know he cares about you, I didn't mean--I was just trying to help."

Fuck you, Kenny McCormick. Fuck you so very much for making this unrequited shit harder to put up with. Now he had to reassure Kenny that he liked him more than ever without actually, y'know, _saying_ it and sounding like a total fag, while trying to deal with his newfound sexuality and his carefully avoided fears about Stan. Kyle tried to smile, but had the sinking feeling it was coming out wrong. His throat felt choked with meaningless words. Something in his face must have communicated how fucked up he felt, because Kenny's eyes widened and he hauled himself up into a sitting position.

"Hey. Hey, Kyle. It's going to be okay, I mean, Stan will get over it, you know he's your best friend. It's going to be okay."

Kenny reached tentatively for his hand, and Kyle latched onto him like a lifeline. Kenny was saying meaningless comforting things, and all Kyle could focus on was how Kenny's hood had fallen to his shoulders and the way his hair went in every direction. There was just something about the way he was trying so hard, the way he always did. Kyle couldn't resist leaning in to rest his head on Kenny's shoulder.

They sat there for a while. Kyle wasn't sure how long; he measured time in deep, even breaths of Kenny-scent and the slow thump of Kenny's pulse. It was an incredibly awkward position, and Kyle's arm was beginning to ache, and he never wanted to move again.

Eventually, Sheila Broflovski's ringing tones summoned them down to dinner, and Kyle was forced to stir. He was also to contemplate exactly how much of a pussy he was being.

Dinner was a relatively quiet affair. Kyle's mom was going on about animal rights or something, and the rest of the family--and Kenny--seemed perfectly happy to nod and make noises of agreement in the appropriate places while getting on with their dinner. In the meantime, Kyle was left with plenty of time to think about things. He'd always been good at figuring things out. If he was persistent enough, he could always get the right answer, find the logical solution. He would figure this out too so that everything would work out, Stan being his best friend again and Kenny being his best friend too, and...well, he didn't really know yet what he wanted to do about the other thing.

Something else he had to work out was how to fix Kenny's future. Kenny had sounded helpless and lost as he raged against the ragged edges of his life that Kyle's heart had utterly broken for him. Realizing that Kenny's plans, Kenny's world might not echo his own had been an unpleasant shock, and Kyle Broslovski was not one to take something like that lying down. He'd make sure Kenny ended up as a doctor or a lawyer or something if it was the last thing he did.

After dinner, Kenny tugged Kyle over to the living room.

"Come on, Terrance and Phillip reruns are showing."

Ike rolled his eyes with the endless wisdom of every eleven-year-old. "You gaywads still watch that crap?"

"Shut up, dildo, Terrance and Phillip are timeless," Kyle shot over his shoulder.

They settled happily onto the sofa, and Kyle retrieved the remote from under a seat cushion. He was beginning to flip through the channels when Kenny objected.

"Hang on, you don't get control over the remote."

"What? This is my house!"

"And I'm a guest, so I get dibs."

"Bullshit. Besides, possession is nine-tenths of the law."

Kenny's eyes began to gleam in a way that utterly distracted Kyle for a moment. "That's true, isn't it..."

He lunged in a blur of growling orange, and Kyle landed on the floor in a heap, clutching the remote protectively."

"Give it up, Broflovski, you're no match for me."

"Never! This remote is my birthright!"

Kenny managed to pin Kyle down bodily and attempted to pry the remote from his hands, but Kyle held on with a death grip.

"I can stay here all day, y'know."

"Dammit, Kyle, give me the fucking remote!"

Kenny was laughing, and Kyle luxuriated in the sound for a moment before replying, quite deliberately--"No. What are you going to do about it?"

"I'll show you what I'll do." The blond leaned down and before Kyle knew what was happening, licked a hot, wet stripe along his jawline. Kyle's brain seemed to shut down completely, and when he phased back into reality, Kenny was clutching the remote triumphantly. "Too easy."

Kyle's body still sang with the remembrance of Kenny's breath on his neck, Kenny's weight pressing him into the ground, the dancing lights in Kenny's eyes. Fuck, this was bad.

"Goddammit, Kenny," he muttered as he climbed back into the couch, curling up against the arm.

He still remembered when they'd discovered Terrance and Phillip, he and Stan. They'd been so small, and everything so big and bright. And Terrance and Phillip were the brightest of all. Larger than life, so fucking funny that the four of them had laughed until they cried.

"Kyle." Kenny was poking him in the arm. "What's up? You're a million miles away."

He shrugged. "Just, y'know. Thinking about when Stan and I first saw Terrance and Phillip."

"Oh." Kenny looked sympathetic, and Kyle fought the urge to scream.

_You just don't get it._

* * *

A/N: Longer chapter this time around. I think the ending was a little awkward, but I decided to cut the chapter off here because it was looking to be ridiculously long. Balance in everything, and all that.

By the way, thanks for all the lovely reviews! They make my day a million times better.


	4. Chapter 4

Kyle was worse than he'd thought. Kenny was touched that Kyle had trusted him enough to have some kind of minor breakdown in his presence, but he still had no idea what to do, how to make things better. Because Kyle didn't deserve this kind of crap. Out of everyone in the world, Kyle deserved to have it good. Kyle deserved everything, deserved a great job and a big house and a perfect life. Kenny couldn't give him any of that, but he could at least try to fix this whole Stan thing. It was just that...even without Wendy, Stan had grown apart from the rest of them. He was attractive, popular, good at sports--what did he have in common with reserved, bookish Kyle or an outcast like Kenny? Cartman was probably closer to him nowadays, or Token. Of course there was more to it, more to all of them, than the simplification of stereotypes, but the fact of the matter was that they moved in different circles. At least Cartman still hung out with them sometimes. Yeah, Kyle hated him and he hated Kyle, but it was a comfortable kind of hate. Besides, Kenny liked Cartman, usually. He was funny if you ignored the fact that he could be a total sociopath.

Beside him, Kyle snorted with laughter, absorbed in the flickering screen. Kenny glanced over at him, pleased at how happy he seemed. This might just be good enough. The chances of him actually solving Kyle's problems for real were, to be perfectly honest, next to none, but he could at least try to make him feel better for a bit.

As the credits rolled, Kyle sighed happily. "There's nothing like Terrance and Phillip getting made nowadays. The fuck is wrong with people?"

"Hell if I know."

"Hmm...it's about ten, we should probably start getting ready for bed. Tomorrow's a school day and all."

Kenny rolled his eyes, hiding a smile in the depths of his hood. "Yeah, I know how long it takes you to pull that stick out of your ass."

"Fuck you, proper sleep is essential for good grades." Kyle stalked off to his bedroom, nose stuck in the air and a smile tugging at his mouth. Kenny followed, snickering helplessly.

As Kyle started rummaging around in his closet for his pyjamas, Mrs. Broflovski poked her head into the room.

"By the way, boys, Ike and his little friends were using the sleeping bags a few days ago at Jew Scouts, so you'll have to share Kyle's bed. I'm sure you two can fit, you're both far too skinny."

"We'll be fine, Mrs. Broflovski, thanks." Kenny smiled at her in what he hoped was an innocuous manner. Quite frankly, Kyle's mom scared the shit out of him.

"Oh, you boys are so precious. Now be sure and get enough sleep, tomorrow's a school day."

As the door clicked shut, Kyle turned to him and shrugged. "Sorry, dude."

"It's fine." Still better than my room, he didn't say. He started to tug off his parka, and heard a muffled sort of squeak from Kyle's direction.

"Are--don't you wear anything under that?"

Kenny looked at him quizzically. "Sometimes. You know that. Why do you ask?"

"I just--look, you can borrow some of my clothes if you want."

"Nah, it's okay. Besides," he grinned, "you're so damn short I doubt any of your stuff would fit me."

"Ah, shut up Kenny."

Kenny looked properly at him, then; Kyle's face was flushed and his eyes determinedly averted. "Jesus, I can wear your stuff if you're that homophobic."

"I'm not fucking homophobic!"

"Whatever, man." Kenny hesitated, then decided to take his parka off anyway. It wasn't all that comfortable to sleep in, particularly when sharing a bed.

"I'm not!" Kyle was still standing there, hands clenched, looking tense and worried. "I mean--are you?"

"Am I what?" Kenny stretched out on the bed. Yes, this was what a proper mattress felt like. Good times.

"Are--I mean, hypothetically, if--oh, forget it."

"Come on. What's up?" He felt like Mr. fucking Mackey, but there was nothing for it. If he was serious about helping Kyle--which he was--there would have to be this kind of shit. He supposed so, anyway. Kyle had always been the get-in-touch-with-your-feelings guy, so this was how it had to go down.

"Nothing. Let's just go to bed. To sleep! Go to sleep."

Kenny sighed patiently. "You're gonna have to talk about this at some point, why not now? You have issues. I want to help. Don't think I can do much, but at least I can listen."

"Yeah, well..." Kyle was fidgeting, but Kenny could tell he was giving in.

"Come on. I'm your friend; I'm not gonna make fun of you, much."

"_Fine_," Kyle bit out. He stared resolutely at the opposite wall. "I'm gay. That's what the matter is."

So, there was that. And suddenly the room was much too hot and small, and the pause was much too awkward, and Kenny had no idea what to do or say. Fuck, he knew he'd screw this up, just like everything else. How had he actually convinced himself that he could help at all?

"I," Kenny said, then realized he didn't have anything to follow that up with. "Um."

"Yeah." Kyle's mouth was twisted at the corners, standing as if he expected to be attacked at any moment. "Thought so. Look, if you want to--I dunno, stop hanging out or something, I won't hold it against you."

Kenny sat up, panicking a little, wanting to reach out but much too afraid Kyle would--bolt, or something.

"It's not--I mean, I'm sort of--shit, Kyle, I'm not going to leave or whatever over something like this. It's just...I mean, dude, this is huge."

Kyle exhaled, low and tired-sounding. "Tell me about it. I only just figured it out."

"How long ago?"

"Earlier today."

"Jesus, no wonder you've been so pissy."

"Yeah." Finally, finally Kyle looked like he was starting to relax.

"So...you want to talk about it?"

/

Kyle wasn't sure whether or not he felt better, now that he'd just blurted out--what he did. But at least Kenny didn't seem to hate him, or be disgusted with him, and that was something. On the other hand, that wasn't the entire problem; Kenny was part of the entire problem, and there was just no way in hell Kyle was telling him that. And now Kenny was looking at him, so careful and concerned. Every inch of Kyle was keenly aware how different he looked without being wrapped up in his parka; no shell to close him off from the world, no bright orange to distract everyone from the boy inside, oddly vulnerable and utterly desirable.

This was really, really bad. If there'd been any doubt as to his orientation, it was completely gone now.

"Kyle? I mean, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, I just...thought it might help, or something."

He could see Kenny shifting to a cross-legged position at the foot of the bed from the corner of his eye. The movement pulled the spot over Kenny's hipbone into view, and Kyle realized just how much of a hypocrite he was being. He'd been upset that Kenny hadn't told him all about his tattoo, and this was so much bigger; how could he expect that kind of one-sided disclosure?

"No, I do want to talk about it." Not completely the truth, but good enough. "I mean...I haven't told anybody else, and I don't know if I can. If this gets out, Cartman will never, ever let me live it down. And Stan..."

Kenny's eyes went soft again with an understanding that Kyle thought probably wasn't too far off the mark this time. "It's Stan, isn't it?"

Or maybe not.

"What? No! I mean, dude, Stan's...no. He's not even my type."

"You have a type already?" Kenny was snickering, a happy sound that made Kyle's world go all fuzzy and holy shit, he really was a faggot.

"I don't know. But whatever it is, Stan's not it." Stan didn't have the sheer balls to be completely and cheerfully insane; he wasn't barreling down the sideroads of life as if every moment was the most important moment of all time. He wasn't skinny and blond and so thoughtful sometimes, and he just wasn't Kenny. Didn't have that crazy energy wrapped up in an understated exterior, invisible until you noticed it and then it was magnetic, magic, nothing in the world like it.

Fuck. If that was Kyle's _type_, he was so, so screwed.

"So...what do you want to talk about it?"

"I'm still kind of freaking out over it. I mean, this is a really big deal for me. My mom is going to go insane if she finds out. But I have to tell her, right?"

Kenny shrugged, and Kyle was momentarily absorbed in the way his skin shifted over his collarbones. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

"It'll be much worse if she finds out somehow without me telling her, though."

"So tell her. Just not until you're ready."

"God, Kenny," Kyle laughed, aware that his voice was a little hollow and helpless, and sank down onto the other end of the bed. "When did you get so good at this stuff?"

"I've got a little sister, so I'm also prepared for the next stage."

"Next stage?"

Kenny fluttered his eyelashes. "_Ohmygod_, that guy is _so cute_, do you think he likes me?"

Kyle reached over to punch Kenny on the arm. "Shut up, dickwad."

"Besides, I..." Kenny looked away. "I kind of had to go through this. Well, something like this."

Wait, what?

"What? I mean--_what_? You're gay?"

"No, I'm...I dunno what I am. I like girls, I just realized a while back that...I sometimes like guys too." He was blushing a little, red just barely cresting his cheekbones. "It's not that important, I guess. I just thought it was only fair for me to mention, considering."

"Not that important? Kenny, it's really important! This changes everything!"

"It does?" Kenny looked horribly worried and uncertain, and all Kyle wanted to do was comfort and reassure him. Now there was a chance, an actual chance, and he was feeling giddy with the prospect. It was as if Kenny was a completely different creature, something attainable, something with possibility.

"Kenny, I really like you, I've liked you for ages and only just realized it. I--" Kyle stopped short in dawning horror. Kenny didn't look worried any more, but he was starting to look more closed-off and a little resigned, and Kyle was just realizing what he'd said. Shit. Shitshitshit. Just because Kenny was...bi, or something, didn't mean there was a chance after all. What had possessed him to blurt out something like that? It had just been the adrenaline of the moment, combined with half-naked Kenny and his motherfucking tattoo.

"Kyle."

"Yeah?" Kyle refused to meet his eyes, face burning with humiliation and impending rejection.

"Kyle, you don't really...like me. You have to understand that."

"How the fuck would you know?" Kyle snapped, furious. His eyes were prickling embarrassingly, and if he didn't stay angry he was worried he'd completely break down.

"Look, you're just mistaking this thing we have in common for actual feelings. You just came out, you're feeling lonely, and I'm a convenient outlet. "

"I--" Kenny cut him off just as he was about to protest.

"Just...promise me you'll think about it, okay?"

And when Kenny asked him to promise like that with his eyes so serious and soft, how could Kyle say no?

* * *

A/N: Sorry it took me so long. Reasons this chapter was late:

1) My Kenny/Kyle muse was on an art kick instead of a writing kick.

2) I'm moving into a new apartment this weekend, and have been packing like crazy.

3) It was a really hard chapter to write, especially as I started out intending to write the whole thing from Kenny's perspective. That boy is damn hard to write properly. I know what he sounds like in my head, but somehow he doesn't want to cooperate when I try to pin him down in words. So I kind of cheated and switched to Kyle halfway. Not only is it far easier to channel my inner Kyle, but it's also a bit more interesting from his point of view.

So it looks like this story is going to be a lot longer than I anticipated. I mean, I've been saying 'one more chapter!' for the past three chapters, and have finally given up on estimating the length.

...but seriously. Probably just one more chapter after this.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn't fucking fair

It wasn't fucking fair. None of it was fair, had never been even remotely fair or just. He'd had to sit there and tell Kyle, Kyle who was bright and determined and cared too much, Kyle who was everything he could never even touch, that he couldn't--start anything. Be anything. It was all true, of course; a textbook case of isolated gay boy mistaking gratitude and fellow feeling for...certain emotions. That didn't mean it wasn't hard as fuck to swallow down everything he couldn't ever say and keep him safe. But at least Kenny'd found a way to protect him, even if if was from himself.

Admittedly, there was an element of selfishness. He probably could have been Kyle's experimental foray, but now, listening to the slow, quiet breathing of the boy next to him, he could admit to himself that he couldn't handle the look in Kyle's eyes when he realized there wasn't really anything there. Selfish, to think only of avoiding his own devastation.

No, Kyle would be hurt, too. He was the type to take such things too seriously. He'd worry about Kenny's feelings or something, and besides--Kenny wasn't good enough for him. That, there, was the cold, bare truth. Kenny had always known it, and it didn't matter which gender Kyle preferred. This new development just meant that Kenny wasn't even allowed the fantasy of if-only-he-liked-guys.

Fuck, it hurt. This whole goddamn mess, twisting up Kenny's insides until he was fighting for breath. His fingers were twisted up in the edge of the blanket, shaking with the effort not to reach out. Kyle's warmth beside him was like the flames of Hell, and Kenny would give anything to let himself burn.

It was a long night.

Kenny was woken by Kyle's tentative hand on his shoulder, shaking him into consciousness. He was vaguely surprised he'd gotten any sleep at all.

"Hey." Kyle's smile was unsure, and Kenny supposed he was already realizing how close he'd come to making a mistake the night before. "I--there's breakfast downstairs. We gotta go or we'll be late for school."

Kenny fucking loved breakast. He almost never got to eat it, but something about breakfast foods just made him happy. Bacon, pop tarts, French toast, even cereal...breakfast was his favorite potential meal. Besides, he liked the idea of having something in your stomach before starting the day.

"Okay," he grinned, and hopped out of bed. "Let's go, then." He tugged on his coat in one quick motion, thanks to years of practice, and ambled down the stairs.

Behind him, Kyle was practically radiating discomfort. Poor guy. But it was better this way, Kenny knew it was better. At any rate, there was breakfast to be had; breakfast made everything better.

Thankfully, Mrs. Broflovski filled what would otherwise have been awkward silence with strident chatter about the animal rights movement she wanted to start. The ride to school was equally uneventful, with the early-morning mist blurring everything outside the car windows into a pleasant numbness. Kenny felt as if he were inside an egg, quiet and warm and isolated by the thinnest of shells from the world.

He didn't really have any classes with Kyle until after lunch, so when Cartman passed him a note in math class that read "KENNY YOU POOR-ASS FUCK WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO KYLE" he was taken completely by surprise. He hastily scribbled a reply.

"what do you mean, I didn't do anything to Kyle"

"I MEAN YOU DICKHOLE HE'S BEEN MOPING LIKE FUCK"

"what makes you think I did anything"

"BECAUSE KENNY YOU ARE A GODDAMNED ASSHOLE PLUS HE FLINCHES WHENEVER ANYONE SAYS YOUR NAME SO I DEDUCED YOU WERE THE ONE WHO TURNED HIM INTO A WHINY LITTLE PUSSY"

"go fuck a dog Cartman"

"I HATE YOU KENNY. I HATE YOU SO MUCH."

As Kenny was crumpling up the last note, planning to toss it at Cartman's fat head, Ms. Walkerton snatched it from his hands. "Passing notes in class, Kenneth? Let's just see what Eric has to say."

"No need, Ms. Walkerton," Cartman interjected. "I can tell you all right now. Ahem."

He stood up, put his hands behind his back, and innocently declaimed: "Kenny, you poor-ass fuck, I hate you because you are a dickhole and a goddamned asshole who turned Kyle Broflovski into a fucking pussy. I hate you Kenny. I hate you so much."

"Eric!" The teacher's voice rose at least an octave. "That is not appropriate language for the classroom! Go see the principal."

"Yes, Ms. Walkerton." He practically skipped out the door, and Kenny would have bet his nonexistent last dollar that he had a plan to talk the principal into letting him go home for the day. The new principal liked Cartman far too much for anyone's good; something about seeing himself in Cartman.

In the meantime, Kyle was still a problem. Dammit. Kenny'd really thought they'd moved on, but apparently not. This was just...incredibly fucked up. Why had he felt the need to share his own preferences? Besides the obvious lack of anything else to say. Now Kyle probably hated him and people would begin to talk about Kyle and nothing would be okay, ever again. Kenny would lose his best friend--practically his only friend nowadays--and Kyle would always remember coming out as a horrible and awkward experience.

By the time lunch came around, Kenny hadn't figured out anything. He was still drifting uneasily in a morass of Kyle-related uncertainties and trepidation without a solution in sight. Lost in thought, he wound up being the last to arrive at their usual spot in the cafeteria.

"Hey, Kenny," said Cartman, slightly muffled around a mouthful of pasta salad. "You hear about Kyle being a fag?"

And there he was, looking slightly embarrassed but mostly relieved that his isolation was lessened, happy enough that it was easy for Kenny to squash the small part of himself that wanted Kyle's coming out to him to be--special. Of course Kyle'd tell Stan and Cartman. Well, he'd tell Stan, and Stan would tell Cartman, anyway.

"Yeah, he told me." Kenny elbowed his way in between Wendy and Kyle, and set down his tray. "What's up with you guys?"

"That's pretty much it." Stan seemed slightly uncomfortable, and was sitting even closer to Wendy than usual. "School sucks, Cartman's a smartass, and Kyle's, uh, gay now."

"Plus he's hot for Kenny. Kyle's got a boooyfrieeend, Kyle's got a--"

"Goddammit Cartman!" Kyle turned completely red, whether from rage or humiliation. "That's--I told--it's not true, shut up."

So he had told them about the nearly-something last night after all. Kenny wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it. On the one hand, it was pretty flattering, whatever emotional turmoil it was fueled by. On the other, why had Kyle told them anyway? It wasn't exactly his greatest hour, going for Kenny of all people. Did he think Kenny was going to tell them anyway? Maybe it had just slipped out. At any rate, he clearly didn't want to discuss it, so that was that. It was probably best just to stay quiet.

After the last school bell of the day rang, Kenny looked up from stashing his books in his locker to see Stan, oddly Wendy-less. "Hey...Kenny? Can I talk to you for a sec?"

"Sure, dude. What's going on?" Kenny shook his hair out of his eyes and pushed his locker shut. He should probably cut his hair soon; it was getting a little unmanageable.

"It's...about Kyle. I just think that maybe--look, we've known each other for like fifteen years, right? You know he's a great guy. He gets a little carried away sometimes, and he's a little gullible, and he's kind of neurotic, but he's a great guy."

Inwardly, Kenny sighed. Whatever Stan was angling at, this wasn't going to end prettily.

Stan continued, looking awkwardly off to the side, "What I'm trying to say is, I think you should just give him a chance. He's kind of a mess right now, and I don't think it would be the worst thing in the world if, y'know...well, you know."

The halls were clearing out, and the sound of Kyle and Cartman bickering was growing more and more audible.

"Look, Stan," said Kenny quickly, "I appreciate the thought, but I just think it would make things worse for Kyle."

He was starting to turn away when Stan grabbed his sleeve and yanked him back. Stupid jock. "Dammit, talk to him. Swear you'll at least talk to him."

"Fine, whatever, okay," Kenny replied, annoyed, and shrugged Stan off, straightening his coat. He glanced at his watch as he elbowed past the other boy. Oh, look. Alcohol o'clock. There was probably enough cheap vodka in his parents' fridge to get him very pissed very quickly.

Kenny was an efficient drinker. He'd always been able to down the strongest stuff without batting an eye, and so that was what he drank. Booze was there to get him drunk, and so he was already halfway there when the doorbell rang, and he glimpsed the green hat from his window.

* * *

A/N: I know, I took ages. But school's starting and as always it takes me much longer to write Kenny. Especially now that I have to actually move the story along.

Reviews are love! If it weren't for reviews, this probably would have taken me twice as long.


	6. Chapter 6

Kyle knew he shouldn't have said anything about his increasingly hopeless crush on Kenny. But unrequited love sucked ass, and he was used to relying on his friends when he had problems. So it had all just come out in one big explosion of personal information, waiting for Kenny at lunch. And then Cartman had been an ass as usual, and he'd caught Stan with a guilty look on his face after talking to Kenny, and things were probably irrevocably fucked up. He just had to try and make it better somehow, and the only way was to man up and talk to Kenny.

So there he was, shifting his weight between his feet, waiting for Kenny to show up. He had no idea what he was going to say, or what was going to happen, or even what he was hoping for. All he knew was that this was his last chance to make Kenny understand--something.

The night before, he'd been plagued by self-doubt and confusion. What if Kenny was right? What if this was just a temporary infatuation, brought on by god-knew-what. But every time he thought that, he'd remember the way his heart seemed to stop when Kenny laughed the way he so rarely did, light and happy. The way everything seemed out of focus when Kenny was around except for Kenny himself, like he was the center of the universe. How he'd spent years feeling horribly empty whenever Kenny went away, and while he'd never really hated Butters or Tweek, he couldn't help but resent them for trying to take Kenny's place. The strange twisting in his stomach whenever Kenny mentioned girls. Having Kenny around had always made things better, brighter, and Kyle didn't know how he could possibly survive without him.

This had been going on for a lot longer than he cared to admit, and whatever Kenny thought, Kyle was pretty sure this was for real.

And there Kenny was, leaning against the doorframe, slim fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle too empty for Kyle's liking.

"Kyle."

"Hi, Kenny."

Kenny blinked, slow and unsure. "What d'you want?"

"I...I wanted to talk to you. About stuff."

The corner of Kenny's mouth quirked, bitter and infinitely despairing. "Yeah. Okay. Come on in, if you want."

Kyle followed him into his room, where Kenny slumped against his mattress and lifted the bottle to his mouth. They sat in silence for a moment, while Kenny drank and Kyle watched the smooth line of his throat working, mesmerized. The last of the bottle drained, Kenny wiped his mouth with his sleeve and slanted a glance towards Kyle. "So, talk already. Or did you want a drink?"

"I'm good." One of them should be sober for this conversation, anyway. "Kenny, about the other day..."

Kenny waved his arm dismissively. "I know. Mistake, won't happen again, already forgotten."

"That's not it. Dammit, Kenny, just listen, okay? It wasn't a mistake. I meant it, and--"

"I told you already, you were just confused." Kenny's knees were drawn up close to his body, and he was clutching at the empty bottle obsessively. "I thought you got that."

That was just too much. "Shut the fuck up, Kenny, okay? Just shut up and stop telling me how I fucking feel. You don't get to decide that even if I am in--"

Kyle stopped short, suddenly realizing that he was shouting right into Kenny's face, gesturing wildly and crouching over Kenny. True to form, Kenny didn't look even a little intimidated, just defensive and wary. His pupils were very big, but from this range Kyle could see the slim ring of blue around them. It was utterly mesmerizing.

Kenny's voice broke into his reverie, harsh and derisive. "You're what? In love with me, or something?"

Hearing it was like the sky clearing. Everything seemed to fall into place, the universe turning correctly, and Kyle smiled. Even the surety of impending rejection couldn't shatter his sudden sense of peace.

"Yeah. I think I am."

Kenny stared at him for one long, desperate moment. He lifted a hand, hovering over the back of Kyle's neck, then made a sound like a wounded animal and pulled Kyle's mouth down to meet his own.

He tasted like smoke and vodka, like a thousand deaths and like helplessness in the face of a cruel eternity. Kyle couldn't help but try and get impossibly closer, hands closing compulsively in Kenny's jacket. He knew this boy, this body, this mouth, and yet it was all so new. He pushed away the terrible thought that this might be the only time, and lost himself completely in Kenny.

A second or a minute or an hour later, Kenny wrenched away, panting a little. "You shouldn't--shouldn't do that. Sorry. I mean I shouldn't have done that. God. Fuck." He looked confused and terrified, now, and all Kyle wanted to do was kiss him again.

"It's okay," he murmured, and was mildly surprised at how low and smooth and pleased his own voice was.

"No, no, it's not okay. I'm--I'm taking advantage, if you--I won't be able to--"

"I'm okay with you taking advantage," Kyle purred happily, and leaned in again.

"No. Shit," said Kenny, turning away, and Kyle realized that the blond might not want this after all. The thought was like ice cold water, and he tumbled off Kenny's lap, where he'd somehow ended up.

After a moment, Kenny added, "Sorry." He was studying the floor intently, and a sick, dizzy feeling rose up in Kyle's throat.

"No, dude, don't be sorry. I should have--fuck, I know no means no, I should be the one apologizing. I shouldn't have pushed."

Kenny laughed, high and unsure, and Kyle was reminded how drunk he was. "You don't get it at all, Broflovski. I'm telling you I'm not good enough for you. You see this?" One shaking hand twitched up the hem of his parka to reveal the dollar sign stamped on his skin. "You know what it means? It means I'm not all that fucking expensive. You don't know what I've done."

"...What do you mean?" Kyle didn't think he liked where this was heading, with the line of Kenny's jaw bordering on cruelty and his eyes wide, unfocused, empty.

"You're the smart one. You figure it out."

As Kenny reached for another bottle, twisting off the top in one fluid motion, Kyle felt the unwanted weight of knowledge pressing in around him. He couldn't breathe. Not only had Kenny had sex, probably with other guys, he was--shit. How could Kenny, Kenny who practically glowed with fierce energy and independence, the same Kenny who'd always been there right next to him--to all of them--have felt forced into that?

"Kenny, that's..."

"I know." Kenny flicked his tongue out to catch a stray drop on his lip. "Disgusting, right?"

"No, I--"

"Don't even fucking try, Kyle. I know what I am."

Kyle knew this moment was important, knew he could fuck it up all too easily, knew both of them were hanging by a thread. If he hesitated too long, or pulled back in any way, or gave anything less than everything, he could lose Kenny and himself in one fell swoop. He could still lose; the odds were stacked against him, but he had to try.

"You're the guy I'm--in love with."

Kenny lurched up and turned towards the window, leaning on the glassless frame. "Don't say shit like that."

"I mean it. I'm--kinda pissed that you didn't come talk to me, to any of us, if you were getting that hard up for cash, but it doesn't change...y'know. The way I feel. About you. I don't know why you think you're not good enough, or whatever, but I really want to, um, be going out with you or something. So if you don't want to, that's--okay, but just don't say it's because you're not fucking good enough."

He couldn't see Kenny's face, and the fear that he'd made a complete ass of himself was growing with every silent moment.

"Jesus, Kyle, you're kind of a pussy." Kenny's voice was softer than Kyle'd ever heard it, and infinitely--something. Warm, maybe. "But yeah, I want to."

Kenny turned, and the look on his face was like the sun rising over the mountains.

* * *

A/N: The End! I think! Might write a sequel, but then again I might be in the mood for something completely different. Probably the same pairing for a while, though. There is just not enough KennyKyle out there, so when I run out of stuff to read I get the itch to write my own.

Anyway, thanks for all the wonderful reviews, and please do let me know what you thought of this chapter and/or the story as a whole. It matters a lot to me.


	7. Epilogue

It had been two weeks, and they still hadn't had sex. Kyle realized that this was relatively normal as far as all the relationships he'd ever heard about went, but he'd always thought that was because said relationships involved girls. This thing with Kenny was completely new territory; he was flying blind, trying his best to fit around this new part of his life without a blueprint or guide. Kenny seemed to be okay with it, so far, but frustratingly enough being Kenny's...something...had not made it easier to get a read on what Kenny was thinking. Kyle had thought that, once they were together, things would just sort of ride into the sunset or something. Not that it hadn't been amazing, these past couple weeks, being able to reach out and take Kenny's hand, or just smile at him in the halls and feel his heart jump when Kenny smiled back. And learning the small sounds Kenny made when he was being kissed was like a drug. But Kenny'd never pushed, never tried to go further, and Kyle's hormones were getting ridiculously out of control. The more Kenny left him flushed and panting between classes, the more bizarre his fantasies got.

He tried to talk to Stan about it, once. He got as far as "See, it's about our, um, sex life--" when Stan clapped his hands over his ears, squeaking, "I can't hear that, dude! La la la la la..."

After that, he decided not to ask Stan about sex, or lack thereof, anymore.

He certainly couldn't ask Cartman, and of course asking Kenny was completely out of the question, so he was pretty much on his own. He just had to--wait it out, or something, until Kenny was ready.

Unless that was what Kenny was doing. Was Kyle not giving off 'ready' signs? He wasn't even entirely sure what they were, or should be. They hadn't even gone on a proper date yet, or what Kyle thought dates were supposed to be like, with the flowers and restaurants and whatnot.

Well, no matter what they were or weren't, Kyle knew what he wanted them to be--more or less--and he was done waiting for Kenny to make the first move.

That was how Friday night found him at Kenny's door in a button-down shirt and slacks, clutching an orchid that he'd paid way too much for, a bit more nervous than was reasonable.

When Kenny answered the door, he blinked slowly, his expression making Kyle blush a little, still surprised every time.

"Hey."

"Hey," Kyle replied, then thrust out the orchid awkwardly. "I, uh. For you."

Kenny stared at the orchid for a blank moment, then reached for it tentatively. "...Thanks. Um, what's the occasion?"

And now the plan that sounded so smooth, so failproof in Kyle's head was falling to pieces. "I thought. Out, somewhere. We could."

The corner of Kenny's mouth twisted up, helplessly, weirdly amused. "You asking me out?"

"I...yeah. That's it."

Kenny hesitated, the harsh, stuttering light from inside the house throwing his face into shadow and stray wisps of hair into bright gold. He should have looked strange, clutching a white orchid with his beat-up orange hoodie and a dark smudge on his cheek, silhouetted against the bare and broken kitchen light, but Kyle'd never thought him more beautiful.

"I can't."

Kyle felt a jab of nausea; he'd misunderstood the situation again, he'd fucked up again, no matter how hard he tried he'd never get it right.

"I--I mean, I don't have anything to wear." Kenny looked a little alarmed: something of the terrible rejection he'd felt must have shown in Kyle's face.

It was an unutterable relief to hear that Kenny was just being an idiot again.

"Shit, I don't care. Kenny, I--how do you not get that I don't care?" Kyle stepped closer, partly wanting to reassure and partly just wanting to reach out and ground himself. The urge was always there, nowadays, to get closer whenever he possibly could, to shut his eyes and feel the warmth from Kenny's skin, smell that weird mix of sweat and dirt and unexpected almond that was just completely Kenny, and maybe if he ever got up the nerve, slide a hand up Kenny's shirt to feel his heartbeat under his palm, bury his face in Kenny's neck and just live there forever. "We don't have to go--somewhere fancy or anything. I just. Thought maybe it'd be nice. If--do you want to just go down to Stark's Pond?"

"What's there?"

Kyle shrugged, his skin fairly buzzing in a very familiar fashion with how much he was not touching Kenny. "I dunno. The stars. And, uh. Us, if you want."

He couldn't quite read Kenny's expression, but he thought he seemed pleased.

Stark's was quiet; nobody really cared to go down to the pond anymore. Everyone old enough was in somebody's basement drinking, down at the pub drinking, or staring blankly into the television encased in their living rooms. Probably drinking.

So it was just the two of them and the blue-black sky, the trees and the starlight. Kyle kept sliding glances over at Kenny, trying to decide if he should break the silence; whether or not this was an awkward kind of silence or something that could be left alone.

As it turned out, Kenny was the one who spoke first as they wandered along.

"So, stars, huh?"

"Sorry. I guess this was kind of a stupid idea." Kyle shoved his hands awkwardly into his pockets, staring at the ground. He snuck a look at Kenny to find him grinning a little.

"Nah. C'mere."

Kyle was only too glad to let himself be pulled stumbling forward into the warm press of Kenny's mouth, let his eyes fall shut to better concentrate on the feel of Kenny.

Somehow Kyle's hands had ended up just under the hem of Kenny's parka, clutching at his hips and pressing him impossibly close. There was just no way that Kenny could avoid noticing how much Kyle wanted him, and Kyle had some pretty solid evidence that the feeling was mutual.

The other boy was rubbing up against him like a cat, tilting his head just right, hands fisted in Kyle's jacket, and Kyle was almost dizzy with how good it felt.

When they broke apart, panting a little, Kyle whispered, "I want you."

Later, he blamed the lack of blood flow to his brain.

Kenny made a strangled kind of noise, which Kyle promptly cut off with another kiss. A moment or an eternity later, Kenny murmured into his mouth, "...not here."

Kyle made a concentrated effort to pull himself together, and suddenly realized what he'd just said.

"Um. Sorry."

"Don't be." Kenny's teeth flashed white in a surprisingly shy smile. "I mean, if you don't want to you don't have--"

"I do. I want to." The world seemed to be growing very small and intense with how very much Kyle wanted to.

Kenny seemed to be hesitating, fingertips twisting in Kyle's jacket. "My...my folks are out for the weekend. If you want, we can. Y'know. Go to my place."

He was so damn hard to read, especially through this haze of pure smothering need. And maybe it wasn't the best call, but Kyle was done taking the safe and cautious route, done trying to decipher some cryptic message in every word and glance. Seventeen and sick of being a clear-headed virgin who made responsible choices. It seemed ridiculous, now, to think of anything but this chance.

"That sounds great."

//

He'd been doing so well up until now. He'd been so determined to do this right, to not push or fuck it up somehow, and now...well. Now he was walking too close to Kyle on the way to his wreck of a house and wreck of a room, planning to have sex with the most important person in his life on a broken mattress without a bedframe. When he added it up in his head it sounded like a bad thing, but the eager, nervous smiles Kyle was sending his way bound his tongue and shackled him to his stride. It was just so hard to break this tenuous balance, however badly he wanted to take Kyle's hand, ground himself, buy strength from the warmth under bright green wool and the affection he was so slowly learning would be found in Kyle's grip and Kyle's eyes.

No matter what Kyle had said, it was a constant shock whenever Kenny was made to realize that the other boy might actually, you know, sort of like him. It was becoming easier and easier to be less guarded around Kyle, less closed off, because of that pleased, happy look Kyle got whenever Kenny opened up a little.

And all of a sudden they were outside his house, and Kyle was pushing the door open and tugging him through by the sleeve.

Fuck.

He fought the rising panic as well as he could, and let himself be led into his bedroom, mind full of too many thoughts. Kyle looked a little unsure, now, and Kenny desperately hoped it would be okay, that he still wanted this, wanted Kenny, despite everything. He reached out blindly for warmth, memorizing each touch, looking for some kind of salvation. Kyle backed up towards the bed, and Kenny followed as helplessly as if he'd been leashed.

It was as if he and Kyle and the world were being cast anew. Every awkward movement, every miscalculation and misstep was smothered by the sheer fact that this was happening. He trusted Kyle, really trusted him, and that made it infinitely easier to let Kyle slowly undress him with that intense, focused look on his face. Every moment seemed to hang crystal clear in the air; every detail etched itself onto his memory. It was so, so good to catalogue the way Kyle tried to hide his small shuddering gasp as he pushed into Kenny. That flush on his collarbone, the way Kyle almost whimpered with pleasure, sweat-damp curls clinging to his face, would stay with Kenny forever.

It was as if part of his mind was watching from the outside, saying Remember this. No matter what happens, you will always have had this.

Afterwards, still wrapped up in a tangle of limbs and sweat and other, quickly-drying fluids, Kyle murmured something into Kenny's neck.

"Hm?" Kenny was preoccupied with pushing his hand through Kyle's hair, tugging gently at the strands and watching them spring back.

Kyle pushed himself up on one elbow. "I said, I love you."

Kenny stilled for a moment, not entirely sure what he was feeling. This was a good thing, right? It was supposed to be. But he knew better, about hormones and about post-coital glow, and most of all about himself. On the one hand, he knew there was no real future here. Kyle wasn't going to stay with a guy who lived on the wrong side of the tracks and ate pop-tarts for dinner. On the other...he was being offered this, and there was no way in hell he could make himself turn it down.

Fuck it.

He reached out for Kyle's hand and laced their fingers together. "Love you too."

* * *

A/N: First, I'm sorry this took so long. It was surprisingly difficult to write given how largely pointless it is, especially--as usual--Kenny's part. Plus, there was school involved in the delay. Apparently college means you have to do work. Who knew?

Also, am sort-of working on another KxK that might surface.

Whether or not they are 'actually in love,' and what that really means, was a source of much concern to me. Being 19, I remember quite clearly what it's like to be around that age and fancying yourself madly in love. Even if afterwards you decide it wasn't really love for whatever reason, at the time it feels like the most important and true thing in the world. At least, that's how I recall it. Who knows? Maybe it's just a different kind of love than the kind that's supposed to be Real Love, the kind that leads to marriage/commitment ceremonies and 2.5 kids/cats. So...fuck it. They think they're in love, and maybe that's valid enough.

I probably overthink my stories way too much.

Speaking of which, I think I'd like to rewrite a couple of the previous chapters. Not incredibly happy with them upon reading and re-reading them obsessively. That is how I roll. So...I don't really know how this alerts thing operates (by the way, it is very flattering that some of you have put me on your alert system, however it works!), but sorry if it sets anything off.


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